


Lineage de Hetalia

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feliciano is the heir to the Italian village's lineage. At the annual cultural festival at Hetalian-high, he realizes the troubles that have been kept behind closed doors. </p><p>Highschool!AU, with my own created world, government, and whatnot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying Pasta

It was a wonderful school day for everyone. The culture festival was coming up, and the school was alive with all sorts of different smells of homecooked meals and decorations from all over the world. 

The school had three floors, labeled "Floor 1", "Floor 2", and "Floor 3", respectively. On each floor, there were two halls, except for the third floor, which only had one, and the first floor, which also had a cafeteria, gymnasium, auditorium, and school offices. It was currently after school hours, but many students stayed behind that day, preparing food, setting up decorations, and other things. Most students were still in their uniforms, as they hadn't gone home to change just yet. 

Students were separated into three different levels of education; 1st year, 2nd year, and Final year. First years were usually 16 years old, second years 17, and Final years 18. This could vary, depending on many things, but that was the general trend. 

Feliciano Vargas, a second year, hurriedly made his way down the first hall, up the stairs--but then, slipped. He fell forwards, throwing a giant bowl of cooked pasta up into the air. Honda Kiku, a first year, was at the top of the staircase, and suddenly his face was covered in slimy, warm, pasta noodles. They slid down his face while he stood there in shock. Feliciano looked upwards, rubbing his cheek. Upon realizing who it was, he jumped up, rubbing the pasta off of Kiku's face.

"Aaaa!!! Mi dispiace!!! Mi dispiace!!!"(1) Feliciano began to tear up, quickly dropping to the ground to scoop his pasta back into the bowl. Kiku bent down, helping him. Once all the pasta was back into the bowl, the two sat atop the stairs, looking at the once delicious-looking meal, which was now covered in hair and dirt.

"Nobody can eat this...." Feliciano cried, rubbing his eyes. Kiku sat for a moment, until he came up with an idea. He shot up, hand in a fist, looking off into the distance, with a glittered look in his eyes. 

"I will help you!" he said, "Let us make more pasta," he looked down at Feliciano with a determined look on his face. 

"Si!!" Feliciano cheered along, and the two made their way down the stairs and out the door. 

 

The sun shone, and a slight wind blew in the air. It was the awakening of springtime in Hetalia; a city that prides itself on the variety of culture it holds. While the amount of culture was almost overwhelming, each had their own 'side of town'. Feliciano lived in central Hetalia, while Kiku lived in eastern Hetalia. You could take the train, bus, or any other usual form of transportation to get from one side to the other. Hetalia-High was in central Hetalia, so luckily it was only about a ten minute walk to get to Feliciano's house. 

Feliciano lived in the Italian village, although, even that was divided. While unofficial, there was a "northern" and "southern" Italian village. This was because, despite the two still being Italian, there had usually held a difference in opinions and other cultural influences. While the northern village had much cultural influence by the German village, the southern village was influenced more by the Greek village. The northern village was small, but the people were bountiful. People were always outside, talking with neighbors and whatnot. Eventually, the two made it to Feliciano's house--it was the largest of all houses in the northern village, signifying the importance of his family.

That is because of another aspect in Hetalia. You see, there are two different education systems. One being for the general populous, and one being for the families of lineage. These lineage families were known as the "powers". They were almost ambassadors of their villages. Each village could have their own rules and regulations, so long as it still held relevance with Mother Hetalia, the leader of Hetalia. The ambassadors of these villages regulated their culture and the individual rules within. 

Feliciano was part of the Italian villages's lineage. He was to one day lead the villages', but for now, he was only a student at Hetalia-high. Kiku was the son of Japan's lineage, as all students at Hetalia-high would have some sort of lineage to a village. 

The two finally made their way into Feliciano's home. Kiku was about to take off his shoes, until he noticed Feliciano walking in without a worry. He sighed to himself, keeping his shoes on, and following behind Feliciano to the kitchen. Feliciano's mother was in the kitchen, making her own pasta sauce. 

"Mamma," Feliciano cried, running towards her to show what his pasta had become. "Mi dispace, mamma! My pasta, I was in a hurry, and I, I slipped and it flew and it hit my friend Kiku in the face and got everywhere! Now it's all hairy and nasty and and and--" Feliciano's mother placed her hand on his shoulder, patting it. 

She took the bowl, throwing the entire thing in the garbage can. "Phenomenal," she seemed to shout, stirring the pasta sauce. "What am I gonna do with you!" Though it seemed to be friendly, Kiku was confused. 

The two talked and talked, and Kiku couldn't keep up. Before he knew it, there was a new bowl of pasta in Feliciano's hands, and they were out the door. 

"Thank you for helping!" Feliciano cheered, skipping along. Kiku nodded, though he didn't feel like he'd done anything. 

Eventually, the two were back at the school's front steps. Classical was now playing, it was especially loud on the first floor, as the music room was down the second hall. Roderich Edelstein, a Final year at Hetalia-high, 18 years old, was playing away at a grand piano, eyes closed, lost in the music. Another individual, an albino, stood beside him, quietly at first, but then began to make obnoxious sounds alongside Roderich's music. A sudden pound at the keys made the albino jumped and snicker.

"Gilbert, as you know I'm tired of your nonsense!" Roderich glared at Gilbert, who was laughing to himself. "Why are you here, anyway? I thought you were expelled." 

Gilbert was noticeably offended by this. "Nien," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. He was not wearing a school uniform. "I would be graduated by now, if my village weren't..."

Roderich, the lineage of Austrian village's family, sighed to himself, and began to play the piano once again.


	2. Lovino

The room was decorated in streamers, Italian flags, and of course, while not a decoration, the smell of pasta filled the room. The festival would begin soon, and the school building was busier than ever. Students rushed around, trying to finish their final touches, all sorts of songs, smells, languages--it was the annual beauty of Hetalia. 

Feliciano cheered, singing along to the music he had playing from the corner of the room. Kiku walked in, had finished early, and came to check if Feliciano needed any help with last minute touch-ups. 

"Noo, I'm all done!" Feliciano laughed. He was covered in tape and streamers--and pasta sauce? Kiku pointed at his own cheek, trying to get Feliciano to check his own. After a few tries, Kiku outright stated:

"You have something on your face," Feliciano stood for a moment, then realized, wiping the sauce off his cheek and laughing embarrassingly. 

"I hope nobody will be angryyy," he whined, "I just couldn't wait!!!" The two laughed to themselves, as the chime of the school bell signified the festival was about to begin. Kiku and Feliciano said their goodbyes, and Kiku returned to his room. 

Citizens from all over Hetalia came to visit, primarily students from Hetalian Heights School, informally known as HHS. HHS was for unrecognized or unofficial villages, and regular citizens. HHS held students of all ages, from pre-schooling to high school. Because of this, it was much larger than Hetalia-High. 

The festival would last three days, and during these three days, everyone was off of school, so they could visit. It ran from early morning to evening, and was the center of attention for Hetalia during its time. 

 

The first day was almost over, and Feliciano's room was near empty. He said goodbye to his assumed final guest for the day, and sighed cheerfully to himself. A day well done, pasta well eaten. As he was about to begin cleanup, someone walked into the room.

"Welco--!" he paused mid sentence, seeing someone he knew standing at the doorway. Lovino. 

Feliciano smiled. "Big brother!"

Lovino looked disgruntled. He was the assumed lineage for south Italian Village, but he attended HHS. 

"I came to see what a joke you made of our culture," he said, noting the green and white streamers all around the room. He walked slowly around, sneering at all the playful details Feliciano had threw around. Feliciano grew uncomfortable, looking down at the empty bowl of pasta. 

"Everyone seemed to enjoy it..." he mumbled, playing awkwardly with the bowl. 

" _Seemed_ ," Lovino kicked at a piece of trash on the ground. "Mother told me to help you clean up."

The two Italians cleaned up, leaving a few details around that would be touched up upon in the morning. They left the building together, glancing from room to room, seeing as others cleaned up aswell.

Finally, they reached the center of the villages. Lovino took one way, and Feliciano another. Feliciano said goodbye, but Lovino, nothing.

-

Lovino unlocked the door to his home, that of which was a size alike the rest. He tossed his keys on the table beside the front door, saying goodnight to his father. Lovino's father sat alone in the living room, watching an old soap opera. He was a depressed old man, one stuck in the past. Old wartime novels and trinkets were scattered about the home, dusty family pictures painted on the walls. Lovino never dared to look at them for more than a moment. 

His house was dark, and the only sounds heard would be that of the living room television or sounds of the weather. Perhaps occasionally the creek of stairs when one would take them, or walls when it stormed. His room was equally as dark and depressing as the rest of the house. His bed lay across the doorway, against the wall, so that no matter what, he'd know if someone were to enter. The floors were wooden, alike the rest of the house, and curtains covered his window, which hung to the left of the doorway. He had a closet to the right, mostly empty, except for some old toys and his dresser. Directly under the window was a desk, covered in schoolwork and other things. 

Lovino sighed, stripping down to his underclothes and laying in bed. The sun was only just starting to set, but his day was already over. He closed his eyes, and dreamt. 

\- 

Feliciano put the dirty dishes in the sink, answering his mother on questions about his day, and preparing himself for dinner. His house was bright, smelled always of a delicious meal, and was full of sound. Italian music played from the kitchen, and lively dramas played in the living room. When he got upstairs, he peeked into his father's office, saying hello, and exchanging stories of their days. He mentioned seeing Lovino, which in response his father's cheery mood declined. Feliciano didn't notice, and hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. Later that night, the family enjoyed a meal together.

"Lovino seemed so sad today..." Feliciano poked at his dinner. "He said something about me making a joke of--"

"Enough!" Feliciano's father slammed his hands on the table. "I don't want to hear about that _bastard_ anymore!"

"Honey--"

"Quiet!" his father cut off his mother. He tried muttering an apology but was cut off aswell. 

"Those southern Italians, always trying to ruin my family! Always trying to ruin our culture!"

"Dad, I--"

"Enough! I do not want to hear his name spoken at this table ever again!"

Feliciano began to cry.

"And it is unbecoming to bear such a weak lineage! Man up, won't you?!" he pushed at Feliciano's shoulder.

"Honey, please stop!" his mother cried, grabbing at Feliciano's arm, and pulling him away from his father. "He's still a boy, young, he--"

"He is 17 years old! It's about time he becomes a man, and I'll show him what a man is!" his father was a large man, he'd worked out often and sported a mustache that was popular with the ladies. "Stand up!"

Feliciano wouldn't budge, only continued to cry.

"W-why do you h-hate my b-bro--"

"Don't you _dare_ , I swear to God, boy!" He grabbed Feliciano by his collar, pulling him up and out of his mother's grasp. She shrieked, and then, a slap. 

It then became quiet, all except for the Italian music playing in the background. Feliciano's father left the room, pulling his wife out with him.

Feliciano sat alone in the kitchen, tears no longer falling, sitting on the ground. His face was red, and his mind was blank. He didn't understand why his father was so angry, why his father hated Lovino so much. He couldn't help but feel like it was his fault.

He cleaned up, walking to his bedroom, and closing the door. The sun was gone now, and he had to wake up early the next morning to continue the culture festival. 

He fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) "Mi dispiace" means "I'm sorry" in Italian.


End file.
